


Bang, Bang; I Shot You Down

by Writer_Jpg



Series: Kylux Sad Stuff [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Hurt Armitage Hux, I'm Sorry, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Poor Hux, Sad, These poor boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 08:50:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_Jpg/pseuds/Writer_Jpg
Summary: Accidents happen.





	Bang, Bang; I Shot You Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redelice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redelice/gifts).



> This is what happens when you're in a Discord chat with an amazing artist who isn't above breaking your heart. And when you listen to Nancy Sinatra too much. :^)
> 
> (PS; Bonus points to the person who knows what Nancy Sinatra song I listened to for like 12 hours)

_"If the other person injures you, you may forget the injury; but if you injure him, you will always remember."_

_\- Khalil Gibran_

 

Twenty-four hours. A full twenty-four hours has passed since Snoke's death. A full twenty-four hours and thirty-two minutes since Kylo had seized control. A full twenty-four hours, thirty-two minutes, and eighteen seconds since he took the title of Supreme Leader and changed the balance of everything.

It had been even longer since Kylo had found sleep.

Adrenaline had pushed him through the previous handful of days without pause. Since he had first discovered the bond forged with the scave--Rey, up to when they had fought back to back against the recently departed Snoke's guards. The pulse of anger and betrayal and so many other emotions taking its place when his uncle had emerged from the shattered base's remains. The pure, uncontrollable rage that had rushed through he when he felt his uncle slip  _peacefully_ away. When he willingly gave himself up for the shattered remains of the Resistance, allowing himself to fade into the Force itself and prematurely end Kylo's goal of destroying the Jedi. But Kylo didn't even get that bittersweet victory because the Jedi—or the bastardized version of them—still existed out there; surviving in the hands of the very person who he still held an uncontrollable connection with. The very person he had risked  _everything_ for when he laid himself bare with the option for her to join him. The very person he had offered a chance of secure survival for because he just  _knew_ , in that moment of brief touches their bond had allowed them, that the girl wouldn't survive whatever the First Order—whatever Armitage Hux—brought down on the Resistance in the future. At his side, she could be powerful. She could be the perfect apprentice he never had the chance to be and guided with a firm hand that nobody else in the galaxy could offer her. Not anymore. At his side, she could have defended and liberated the galaxy from the chaos the Resistance brought with it. At his side, under his teaching, she could have been  _something._

But she chose to be nothing and stand with an army barely big enough to fill a ship.

Kylo should have known she was a lost cause. He should have known when she had turned on him in the throne room, mere seconds after they had fought side by side as momentary allies. He should have seen that her decision had been made the moment their eyes had locked over his uncle's lightsaber. He should have seen it. He still should be able to see it instead of standing in what was to be his new—possibly temporary if the trade deals Hux had suggested went well enough to afford a larger ship—throne room, pacing a hole through the floor. Instead of marching  around, taking out bursts of anger that was only fanned by his wounded ego and exhaustion on the room itself—and the items that had carefully been put in there for obvious aesthetic pleasures and comforts—he should have been out there, on the bridge. He should be at Hux's side, discussing their next move as they both silently promised each other that yes, it would be okay and yes, they  _would_ survive this. They always survived. They should be together, hands barely touching as Hux talked with a calm voice over where they should head to first to gain fresh resources and start building from the ground up. Kriff, he didn't even know where they were at the moment. He knows they're alive; he knows they're on a ship that works; he knows they're in space; but he knew nothing else. He knew not if this was to be their new permanent ship or if he should expect a bigger one with a proper throne room (since the one he was pacing in was barely a quarter of what Snoke's was in both size and appearance; but he really didn't care about that, did he?). But he didn't know any of that. What did he know?

He knew he could still sense Rey through the forced connected Snoke had branded them both with for his own agenda and it was causing his mind to falter.

When the remains of the First Order had scurried to this new ship, with morale low and exhaustion high, Kylo could still sense her. Though the connection was broken and had grown unstable since the passing of the one who crafted it, he could still sense her. He could sense that she was alive and gaining distance. 

He didn't know which part of that pissed him off more.

Or maybe how, when they finally had their ship moving through space and Hux was trying to salvage what was left with salt clinging to his cheeks and fresh bruises around his neck, Kylo couldn't focus. No matter what he tried to do or think, he couldn't bring his attention to the present. Hell, he couldn't even bring himself to strip from his ruined clothes that were still stained of salt, sweat, and blood that he couldn't be sure belonged to him. And that's how he had been, for the past cycle; that's how he was in his new, ruined throne room, with salt falling from his hair and sweat causing his outfit to chaff. 

And he was desperately reaching out, yet again, to the very person who had managed to destroy his sanity within only one day.

"W...hat c—..uld you....—om this?!" Her voice shattered through the silence of the throne room when the Force snagged her, dragging her eyes to where he wasn't in front of her. She expected to see where he was like she always had been able to. To see him standing there with those wide, kicked puppy eyes as he tried, yet again, to offer her another chance to turn the ship around and stand at his side. Another chance; something Rey wouldn't understand.

But this time was different.

Nothing, for the both of them, was clear. Neither could make out the other's surroundings; they couldn't make out their expressions—or even what the other wore; they could barely make out bits of the words that were coming from the other's mouth. The connection that had been forced onto them by the now dead creator was breaking. It was barely holding onto the two of them and Rey just seemed to  _know_ the farther she went from where he was, the less stable it would be. It would snap like a band being pulled too far, leaving them both with a stinging numbness. Kylo knew too. He desperately reached out, hand suspended in the air with his fingers spread wide—was he reaching out to her? She thought of the night they had first touched, in the hut, when their fingers had barely brushed and it had felt real—and she had seen what future awaited him if he continued down his path—and she thought that was what he was wanting. But then the handle of his unstable saber was in his hand and erupting to life. And, despite knowing they were far apart and no real damage could be done—especially with the state their bond was in— Rey still felt a spike of fear when the end was aimed at her. A spike that made her image ripple in their connection, causing Kylo to step closer, other hand gripping the handle.

"Tell me where they are!" He cried out, spittle falling from his lips. He huffed and pure, unadulterated rage poured through him, guiding him to start walking towards her. Was he going towards her? Was he still in the throne room? It was hard to tell anymore. The connection made it all blur. The walls of the throne room that was a red three shades varying from Snoke's molded to a dull, familiar grey ship wall that had Kylo's heart hammering. The drapes with the First Order insignia carefully stitched and hanging mixed into cheap curtains Han Solo had thrown up so little Ben Solo could sleep peacefully while him and Chewie worked on parts of the ship. A ship that, if given the chance to look through again, had his initials scrawled in one of the compartments because Kylo used to hide there when he wanted to go with his dad—Leia always caught him last minute because she could just  _sense_ him in there. But it all blended. It all mixed in a cocktail of sensory overload that had Kylo feeling as though he was on the verge of fainting. One step forward and the walls were grey with dents and scrapes that his father never cared enough to fix or hide; another step and the red walls were there, in reach, with the drapes hanging only inches before his nose. The blend of colors and the distance growing between caused spots of pain to dance under his temples and his grip tightened.

"Yo...—ere....Scu—!" He voice was broken apart, stripped to bare syllables, and put back together when Kylo turned and started walking. Her image cracked when he stepped one way but solidified another way. She was snarling fiercely. Kylo had seen this look before. When she stood before the silenced Snoke, saber in hand, back against his, and just snarled at the guards around him. She felt like a proper apprentice then. Someone he could shape to serve as his own right hand. Someone above the Knights he had trained, who would lead them to serve the First Order—no, serve Grand Marshall Armitage Hux, because Kylo knew he  _craved_ power. He knew he could trust Hux to put them to proper use. To keep them all in line.

"Show me where they are! Show me!" He demanded and he reached out to her with his hand, as though to call upon the Force to restrain her. He wanted to grab her. To hold her by her throat as he searched through her mind, tearing their location from her. But she wouldn't give anything up. She knew they were safe and out of. For now. They both knew it. And Rey took advantage of it by turning and walking away, the image flickering as the grey was over-powered by the red. "No!" He cried out because she was walking away. She was severing the already thin bond that had been given to them. "Don't you dare!" He yelled, but that was all he could do. He could only yell and promise her a future demise as Rey, with knowledge Kylo would never get a chance at again, walked away. She walked from him; from their bond; from joining Kylo; from power.

Kylo roared.

The sound, despite the thin sliver holding their bond together, made Rey jump and turn in time to catch the man bringing his saber down.  She didn't know what he was aiming for—correction, she knew  _what_ he wanted to hit, which was her, but she didn't know what he had actually hit. She heard the energy fluctuate when it hit something and saw a puff of smoke, but she couldn't see what was his victim. It must not have been of much importance, for Kylo barely paid it any mind before he settled her with his burning gaze. She held her breath and he brought his saber at something else in his path. This time, there was the sound of shattering that followed the swing, and Rey winced. She watched the man who she should fear—not pity—wobble from his momentum and nearly collapse, falling to a knee as huffed and panted. He shook and Rey could tell—or maybe she could still feel it, through their bond—that he was unstable. He had been since this bond had been crafted. Hell, he's been unstable every since he first went to Snoke and the light and dark still warred inside him. He braced himself on his knee and looked up. His eyes bored into her and she felt exposed. Even when the bond shook and his image mostly faded for several seconds, she felt watched. There was silence and Rey, for reasons she couldn't say, felt responsible for this. She felt responsible for the state he was in. She felt at fault for not having tried harder to pull him back to the light. She felt to blame for not having taken him—when he was unconscious on the floor of the destroyed Supremacy and she had run away—by his collar and dragged him back to the Resistance; back to his mother. She shouldn't feel responsible because she  _knew_ Kylo Ren had done this to himself when he refused to come back with her. When he took the title of Supreme Leader and rained hell on the Resistance; against his own people; against his own mother. Kylo Ren deserved this; but it didn't make Rey feel any better.

Then there was someone in view and Rey didn't have a chance—or a way—to warn them of how grave a mistake they were making.

There was a gloved hand that seemingly appeared from nowhere, with a pale wrist exposed, and fingers barely catching Kylo's left shoulder. A beat had passed, when Kylo registered the touch, before he whirled and gripped the wrist in his own, jerked the person to the side—off balance—, and brought his saber up in a powerful enough swing that he couldn't keep his hold on it, letting it fly free and across the room, out of Rey's sight. She gasped, fell back, and watched everything suddenly break apart as she was left in the bedroom she occupied on the Millennium Falcon shaking. She didn't see who it was Kylo had just struck out against. She didn't know if it was an assassin already sent to take Kylo out—she had heard rumors from Finn that it was a common practice to obtain power in the First Order; taking out those above you. Had she just witnessed an attempt? She did't know.

She only heard a scream and the sounds of flesh sizzling before it had been torn from her, leaving her bracing against the bed as a throbbing filled her head.

Kylo didn't recognize the scream at first. He didn't recognize anything when the bond was suddenly severed; a snap back of pressure from the strain of it catching him, sending a spike of pain through his head. He fell to his knees and felt his muscles quake under his clothing. Everything was too much to handle for a moment and Kylo had to take deep, harsh breaths to bring himself back to the presence. It took several seconds of blinking before he could recognize the red walls and the smell of burning flesh and leather registered. He tensed. Had he already been attacked? Had, in his first day, an assassin been sent to slit his throat in his weakened state? Was this one of the officer's doing? Was those traitorous thoughts of Hux's—the very ones Kylo had tried to ignore when he first woke up and Hux had his blaster in hand—the reason to blame for this? Had—

_Kylo just cut down the only he's shared a bed with?_

The image didn't fully hit him. There was too much to take in for the state his mind was in. Pieces filtered past his fluttering gaze and registered somewhere deep in his brain. Red. Red hair. Red floor. Red walls. Red liquid. Blood. Lots of blood. Soaking through that great coat Hux had specially tailored to fit his narrow self with the shoulders pads stuffed in it to make him appear more menacing. Blood that created a strange, horrible smelling mist as it dripped over charred skin and leather that smoldered like embers from the cigarettes Hux always smoked after dinner. There was heat. Lots of heat that radiated from the glowing, jagged shred that seemed to sever the general on the floor into parts. From his shoulder to his hip. The striking point was at his hip; where he had made contact and followed through his his swing with all the strength he could muster.

He had done that.

Had had struck down Amirtage Hux; he had just struck down the man he  _loved._

Kylo Ren had struck down the man who he had already thrown around like a doll caught in a child's destructive path. He had struck down the man who he had, mere hours ago, choked until bruises—bright ones that wouldn't go away for a while—formed and his voice was raw. The very man who, only days prior, had shared his bed as they made hidden vows of protection against each other's skin. The very man that had been entering the throne room in that moment to try and guide Kylo to his personal chambers so that he could take the rest Hux had suggested to him hours ago. He remembers it. How Hux had looked at him with that snarl on his lips but worry in his eyes; how the man had suggested for Kylo to find his new quarters rest. He had said he needed to sleep so that he would be in top condition when they settled on what their next move would be. The First Order needed their Supreme Leader in top shape. And what had Kylo done then? He ignored him. He had thrown the very man he had whispered praises and promises to only days ago—promises of protection, no less—for...for what? For a bond that had been crafted out of deceit by a dead Force user? To try, yet again, to gain the loyalty of someone who could never pledge herself to Kylo like Hux had already done? 

"Armitage!" He yelled. He had expected Hux to curse at him as soon as that name slipped past his lips. Expected the man to rise up, blood pouring through his clothes, and curse Kylo for ever speaking that name when he had specifically been instructed to never use it. It was a name Hux himself despised. It was associated with his father in his eyes. Hux had made Kylo swear to never utter it again. Even in dire situations. Hux had wanted his father's memory to fade with the remains of the old generation; he didn't want to ever be compared to that man again. But here, when Kylo had screamed it and his thoughts were bursting with panic, Hux didn't move. He didn't even twitch. Blood started to gather under him and pool out. Kylo moved to grab him. "You're not dead." Kylo said. He didn't scream it. He choked too much on those words to properly scream them. No, it was an order. Hux couldn't be dead. Of all things that had happened to him, it can't be Kylo's rage induced fit that actually finished him off. He didn't deserve to go that way. He deserved to die on the battlefield, surrounded by the Resistance, with a bloodied snarl on his lips and blaster in hand as he fought to his last breath. He didn't deserve to be cut apart while checking in on the man who he had declared his love for only days prior. No, not love. Admiration. Strong, unrivaled admiration; because Armitage Hux didn't say love. He said strong admiration.

He just couldn't have died like this.

_'Hux.'_ He tried projecting through the Force. Hux hated when he did it. He hated when Kylo's voice slipped past the walls he had carefully erected around his thoughts—a practice since he had first met Snoke with ambitions of being Emperor on his thoughts—and spoke directly to him. He hated it because, in those moments, he felt inferior. He felt that the work he had put into keep Force users like Kylo out was all for not. But Kylo had found it amusing and promised Hux he just trusts him too much to keep him locked out.  _'You're not dead, right? You're unconscious, right?'_ He desperately asked as his hands caught Hux's shoulders and pulled him to him. He was limp and the blood that poured from his back had soaked around his sides, to his front, and now Kylo's own front. He pulled him between his legs and arms and brought a hand carefully to his cheek. He pressed his thumb against his stiff cheekbone and angled his head to look up at him. Was he even breathing? Kylo moved his hand away from his cheek to the back of his head and angled him just right so he could fully see his face.

"Armitage." He tried again because Hux  _was_ breathing—for now. Short, shallow breaths that served only to push spit and blood just over his bottom lip. His eyes were closed, though, and Kylo knew it was either the shock his body was feeling or the blood loss that had put him under. But he was unconscious. Not dead, unconscious. For now. "You're just out of it. You're fine. You'll be fine." He muttered. He felt an ache in his chest when Hux didn't respond. He pulled his face to his shoulder and pressed his fingers through the hair at the back of his head. A silent plea was on his lips. One he couldn't even bring himself to project to the man's mind. Not when he tilted his head down and caught the burning smolders of the injury he had caused. Smoke—or steam, he couldn't tell when tears were blurring his vision—creeped off the bright edges of his greatcoat. He knew Hux would had a massive fit if he woke up. He always wore that coat wherever he went. It was as part of him as the First Order insignia on his uniform was. If he woke up, he would definitely give Kylo a lecture from hell and back. He'd possibly send him on a laundry run to find a freshly tailored one. He'd—

_If._

Kylo blinked and thick tears pooled over form the motion. Cold tears. Freezing when compared to the heat of the injury under his hand as he pressed his gloved palm over it. It stung. The longer he left his hand, the hotter it seemed to get. But he couldn't bring himself to let go; not yet. He dug his nails in above it and pressed as if that single motion could undo it all. As if that could stop the blood from oozing out over his hand. As if he could reverse the damage. As if he could fix it. But  _if_ still hung on the edges of his mind and it made him clutch Hux to him tighter, desperate to feel his chest shake with each breath. He knew he should be taking him to the medbay. He should be carrying him there with the urgency he deserved, not wallowing in his own tears while betting the man's life on the hope that he wakes up. They're on their own ship. Kriff, they're not in the enemy's base, about to be executed with only seconds left to get out their final words.

Then why couldn't he move?

_'Accidents happen.'_ He thought, chanting it inside his own mind. He tried to stop the tears.  _'_ _Accidents happen. Fix this. Fix it. For him.'_ He ordered himself. He tried to make his body move with the words alone. 

_But he didn't and he continued to sit there choking on tears._

Why?

_'Ren.'_ The voice, so weak and pathetic Kylo had thought he had imagined it, invaded his thoughts so suddenly, he thought the bond had reconnected him and Rey. As if the Force was mocking him, letting her see him in his most pathetic moment yet.  _'Ren?'_ It repeated with fear and confusion and Kylo realized it wasn't the girl. It wasn't his imagination. It was the man in his arms who was still breathing and bleeding and alive—even if only for the moment. He was calling out. In his mind, even after he had been struck down by him, Hux called out for him.  _Him._

"Armitage!" He said and clutched tighter. "Armitage, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Wake up. Please, okay? Just wake up. Just get up for me, please." He mumbled, words breaking as sobs overtook him. It grew harder to speak but he tried, voice rising. "I'm going to get help. I'll make this right. I'll get the stars for you. The galaxy. Please, anything if you'd wake up." He said. He waited for another sign from Hux that he was still there. Even if it was a traitorous thought about slaying Kylo in his sleep—which he would now agree that he deserved—he needed to hear it. He just needed to know he hadn't just imagined his voice in a fit of desperate madness. He waited for anything past soft breathes on his shoulder.

But his mind was silent for the first time in days and Kylo longed for the silence he had spent years craving for to leave.


End file.
